Break
by Helen C
Summary: He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.
1. Teaser

**Title** : Break

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13 for violence

**Summary** : He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far (up to 3x11) is fair game.

**Pairings** : Lee/Dee, glimpses of Lee/Kara, but the pairings aren't the point of the story.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN**. Huge thanks to my beta, Joey, who gave this a look even though BSG is not her fandom of choice.

* * *

**Break**

Helen C.

Teaser

"Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica," he drones out, his voice hoarse.

He expects the blow that follows, braces for it, but they've been at this for—is it an hour? Two? Six? It sure feels like an eternity—and it doesn't really matter where they hit anymore. Every blow just seems to land on an already forming bruise, no matter what.

He grunts involuntarily, his arm pulling at the restraints, grimacing as they bite into the raw skin of his wrists.

He knows it's useless.

These guys are amateurs, but they know enough to use strong bonds.

Frak.

He hears someone talking, almost against his ear, can't quite make out the words.

"Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica," Lee says.

He doesn't even hear their questions anymore—at this point, they could be asking how he's doing and what he wants for dinner, and he'd still answer the same thing.

Rank. Name. Assignment.

He can't even think about anything else at this point.

Can't see anything, can't really hear very well anymore.

How hard did they hit him in the face? How many times? Does he have a concussion already, or is he just merely exhausted?

"Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica."

This time, when the blow comes, it brings darkness, and Lee allows himself to fall.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Part 1

**Title** : Break

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13 for violence

**Summary** : He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far (up to 3x11) is fair game.

**Pairings** : Lee/Dee, glimpses of Lee/Kara, but the pairings aren't the point of the story.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN**. Huge thanks to my beta, Joey, who gave this a look even though BSG is not her fandom of choice.

* * *

Part One

Lee should have known.

No, really, he should have.

"It's just a routine investigation," the Admiral had said. "Go to the Faru Sadin, ask a few questions, make sure these people know we meant it when we said that we'd keep an eye on the black market."

And neither the Admiral nor the President had made it sound like it was a punishment, even if they had probably meant it that way. After all, Lee had been the one who had decided that the black market should be allowed to remain, under certain conditions.

"Take Dualla and a couple of marines for support."

And yes, he knows exactly why the Admiral did _that_, as well. It's no secret that there are tensions between Lee and his wife, and the whole frakking ship knows about them, and the Admiral must have thought that all that tension was becoming counterproductive (he would have been right) and that it was time to do something about it.

Truth be told, Lee hadn't minded the idea of spending some time with Dee, even if it was work-related, and under the watchful eyes of two marines.

They never seem to see each other anymore, and whenever they do, Dee looks sad and Lee feels like the biggest jerk ever, and damn it, he wants a chance to make it right. Maybe this mission will be the ice-breaker between them.

Yes, it had seemed like, maybe not a good idea, but a not-bad idea.

He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship, should have known that nothing was ever that easy, should have known that he'd be covered in bruises before the end of the day.

When did his missions away from the Galactica ever end any other way?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There are rules to this, he knows.

Their first step, logical, is to work him over.

Which they are doing.

And putting their hearts into it, too.

Then, they'll put him alone in a room, and come back some indeterminate time later and tell him that the fleet left, that his team was rescued, that he was abandoned, left behind, and he won't believe it, but deep down, he'll start doubting.

Then, they'll work him over again.

Then, probably at the same time, they'll undoubtedly start threatening to kill him.

Or, worse, they'll threaten to kill his men.

Lee wonders if people like that know that there are classes in War College dealing with this kind of thing.

He wonders if they know that these situations always fall into certain patterns, where everyone's behavior is predictable up until a certain point.

"We don't want to have to do that," they'll say, trying for a sincere tone. Lee can almost hear it already. "But you're forcing us to come to this."

And if he's very, very lucky, the rescue will come before he finds out if they are serious or not.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The second time they take him to what Lee dubbed the interrogation room, even though it's really nothing more than a storage room, there's a bucket of water on the ground.

Predictably, the men who lead him here whispered lies about how the fleet had left and abandoned him here

Lee tuned them out early in.

It hasn't been nearly long enough for the fleet to have given up yet.

He's sure of it.

Instead of listening, he studies the floor—the water around the bucket, the pools of blood here and there.

Lee wishes he could say for sure that all of it is his, but he doesn't remember the first time he was here clearly enough for that.

Were his men—was Dee—questioned here? Were they asked the same senseless questions about Galactica, and how the rescue team is likely to proceed when they come, and is there any way they'll let them get away with a hostile takeover of a civilian ship?

At the first question, Lee can't resist from pointing out, "I thought the fleet had left."

His retort owes him in first plunge in the water and he tries to resist struggling, certain that they won't kill him—yet—but unable to stop himself as his lungs start screaming for air.

Dying in space was easier.

He just… drifted.

It didn't even hurt, until he woke up on the Raptor, on his way back to the Pegasus.

"How many men will they send?" one of the men asks him.

Lee briefly toys with the idea of insulting them, maybe even cracking some jokes, like Starbuck might do in this situation. He decides against it. He doesn't need to worsen the situation. It's bad enough already. "Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica," Lee says, knowing that they won't keep him alive indefinitely, and wondering what the hell they think they're going to get from him.

They keep him under longer than the first time, and when they bring him back up, he spits a mouthful of water and coughs uncontrollably. They keep him kneeling, forcing him upright when all he wants to do is curl up.

"What are the Galactica's weaknesses?"

_Aside from the fact that it's a decommissioned ship that's not supposed to be flying anymore, and that it's the only thing standing between us and the frakking Cylons? Nothing._

"Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica."

Before they force his head under the water, one of the men holding him whispers to Lee, "You're not making it easy on yourself."

_Story of my life_, he wants to say, but then he's struggling to hold his breath, and it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He's still panting, dripping water, on his knees in the center of the room, when they bring in the first marine.

Damn.

Lee knows that life's unfair, and no one can win all the time, but couldn't they catch a break, every once in a while?

The rescue team isn't here, and it looks like today's bad guys seriously plan on executing his men.

And there's just no way he can say anything about Galactica's weaknesses to people who might be Cylons (and who are terrorists even if they're human), no way he can start explaining to them what the attack plan is likely to entail while civilians are still aboard the ship, presumably waiting for rescue.

The marine is made to kneel a few feet from Lee. "You look rough, sir," he says.

Lee _feels_ rough. And if his face looks like the one of the man in front of him, he hopes he doesn't meet a mirror for the next week.

And if they did that to his wife, he won't rest until they're all dead.

"Thank you, Gunny. So do you," Lee replies, as if they were passing each other on the Galactica.

They share a look and the marine licks his lips nervously.

It's a common joke to say that marines are expendable—canon fodder—and that their sole purpose is to die to clear the way for the rest if the troops in hostile territory.

Just like every viper pilot knows before climbing into the cockpit that he's a walking/flying dead man until he lands again.

They all joke about it.

And when no one is looking, they whisper prayers to the gods, start self destructing by drinking or getting reckless, develop rituals or find a lucky charm—something, _anything_, to make them believe that luck is on their side, that they'll live to fight another day.

Lee's luck is running out.

Just as this marine's is.

One of the men holding them puts a gun to the marine's temple.

"What can you tell me about Galactica's means of defense?" he asks Lee.

Is protecting that information really worth a man's life?

Is there any way to buy some time?

"I don't know that much about Galactica's—"

A vicious kick in the back sends him sprawling forward, and he hits his chin hard on the ground. Someone grabs his hair and pulls him to a kneeling position again.

Lee glances at the Marine, who looks like he could just about kill everyone in sight now.

If only he wasn't on his knees with his hands tied in his back, unarmed.

_Right with you there, Gunny._

"What can you tell me about Galactica's defenses? How much weaponry? How many guns left, how much ammo?"

"Fifty nukes, ten millions guns left, more than enough ammo to blow you out of the sky."

The click of the safety being pulled echoes impossibly loud in the room.

"What about Roslin?"

"Great lady," Lee deadpans. "Very competent. You'd like her."

Someone's still clutching at his air, and the grip tightens painfully.

"What about her security detail? What's the protocol when she leaves Colonial One?"

_We're in space_, Lee wants to snap. _So unless you have small attack ships you've been hiding in your pocket for the last two years, or a very clever way to infiltrate people on the Galactica or Colonial One, why don't you give it a rest?_

Still, he doesn't like what he's hearing. It sounds too much like the sudden resurgence of uncontrolled black market was a ploy to attract someone from the Galactica, and Lee doesn't like the sound of that at all.

He doesn't like that no one ever suspected that there was an organized group of men armed enough and determined enough to take over a ship and capture soldiers and question them.

He doesn't like where their questions are leading.

He doesn't like that there are many civilians on board. Potential hostages.

He doesn't like that they're smart enough not to let information about them and their plan slip through.

"What about Roslin?"

He meets the marine's eyes. Sees the naked fear in them.

Holds his gaze as he replies, "Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica."

He doesn't hear the shot.

He's still staring ahead, trying not to throw up, when they pull the marine's body to the side, and drag Dee in.

Make her kneel in front of Lee.

She has bruises on her face.

His fists clench.

He can't do that.

There's no way he can allow them to kill his wife just to protect information.

These guys will die by the time the assault team arrives anyway.

How many hours has it been?

Surely, they must be on their way by now.

"What can you tell me about the Galactica's defenses?"

Funny how, suddenly, the regs that made everyone laugh so hard in the aftermath of the apocalypse ("So, we're the only humans left alive, and we need to repopulate the fleet, but we can't, 'cause we're in the army") don't seem so ridiculous any more.

If he could see her as just another soldier, maybe it would be easier.

But all he can see is his wife—too wise, too beautiful, and way too good to him.

Dee looks at him, blinking back tears.

"I don't—" Lee starts. He doesn't know what he's going to say. He can only lie, that much is sure. But maybe buying a little time…

Damn.

He just can't do this. Not to Dee.

He opens his mouth but just as he's about to talk, Dee shakes her head.

When he meets her eyes, she gives him a small, forgiving smile.

Then, looks defiantly at her captors.

"Go frak yourselves."

They don't repeat the question.

Lee stares ahead dumbly, as bullets propel Dee's body backwards.

He stares at her while the men gather to talk in hurried, angry voices, gesturing wildly.

He stares at her as one of them pulls him back to his feet, drags him to the door.

Somehow, he's still staring at her when they throw him in a dimly-lit room.

Then, he stops seeing anything anymore.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Part 2

**Title** : Break

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13 for violence

**Summary** : He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far (up to 3x11) is fair game.

**Pairings** : Lee/Dee, glimpses of Lee/Kara, but the pairings aren't the point of the story.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN**. Huge thanks to my beta, Joey, who gave this a look even though BSG is not her fandom of choice.

* * *

Part Two 

Lee comes back to himself, eventually.

He's sitting propped up against a wall.

His hands are still tied, and so are his ankles.

The fact that he doesn't remember when and how that happened would probably worry the hell out of him, under normal circumstances.

The last marine of the team is with him, looking at him from his place against the opposite wall with an undecipherable expression.

"Sir? You're all right?" he asks.

Lee bites back on the incredulous laugh that wants to escape.

If he starts laughing now, he'll lose it completely, and when the rescue team arrives, that's how they'll find him—stuck in a room with a marine, laughing so hard it hurts, and he'll go totally insane if that happens.

"No," he croaks.

He takes in the other man's appearances. Bruises, cuts, what looks suspiciously like a burn on his neck.

A kind of faraway look in his eyes.

He clears his throat before asking, "You?"

"No, Sir."

They stay silent for a while.

At least, it looks like the bad guys decided to stop shooting them.

Did they finally understand that they wouldn't get answers that way?

Lee refuses to think about Dee.

About how she looked when these bastard shot her.

The marine—Williams, the man's called Williams, Lee remembers—is still looking at him worriedly.

"Sir? Do you know where the others are?"

"Dead," Lee replies shortly, almost distractedly.

_They were asking questions, you see, and I didn't answer them, so they—_

He stops thinking and resumes staring at his feet.

"Sir?"

He raises his head.

"Hm, they kind of teach us how to keep concealed weapons."

Slowly, the thought of concealed weapons makes its way into Lee's brain, until he realizes what Williams is telling him. "Right." He swallows. "Where?"

"My belt, sir."

Lee sighs as he analyzes the few feet separating him from the marine. If he can move, he'll have to crawl the whole way. It's going to take him forever.

_Well, then, you better start moving now, right?_

Sighing again, he starts moving.

"Major Cottle's going to have a field day with the both us, sir, isn't he?" the marine says, probably to distract Lee from the fact that everything hurts like hell right now.

Lee manages a smile, and for a second, everything's normal, and this is just one of their missions-gone-wrong, and they'll laugh about it once they're released from the Doc's care.

Then, it comes crashing down on him again, and Lee grits his teeth and puts all his energy into reaching Williams.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the men come back, Lee and the Williams are ready.

There are five of them.

No match against the infuriated Lee Adama and the no less angry marine.

Lee allows them to drag to his feet, playing the part of the rag doll, allowing them to support his weight, to drag him near the door, vaguely aware of Williams doing the same thing.

Then, without warning, Lee shoots up, elbows one of his guards in the throat as hard as he can, enjoying the stunned expression and the gurgling sound that escapes the man.

Another of the guards launches at him.

_Don't think._

Lee sidesteps him.

_Don't think._

Trips the man.

_Don't think._

Lunges for the weapon he's carrying on his belt.

_Don't think._

Secures the weapon.

_Don't think._

Shoots the man.

_Don't think._

Whirls on himself.

_Don't think._

Takes aim.

_Don't think._

Fires three shots in quick succession.

_Don't think._

Then, the flurry of movement stops.

Williams is standing, the fourth guard at his feet, his neck twisted.

He's holding the fifth man in a painful-looking hold—Lee knows that with the slightest increase in pressure, the man's arm will break.

"Sir?" the marine says hesitantly.

Lee looks down at the gun in his hand.

"I…" he starts.

He stops.

Now what? 

Then, there are shots further down the corridor, and seconds later, Starbuck enters the room, business like, and assesses the situation with one glance.

"Oh, you guys were ready to leave?" Her sassy tone is typical Starbuck, both infuriating and comforting.

She frowns when her eyes fall on Lee.

"Major?" She takes a step towards him. "Lee?"

The room start spinning and he sinks to his knees, hanging his head.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He never really loses consciousness.

He never really reacts to Kara's strident questions either, or to the way she drags him to the Raptor, yelling at Galactica to have a med team at the ready when they land.

He just goes through the motions, sitting when he's told to sit, nodding when he's asked if he's all right.

Floating.

Disconnected.

He's worrying everyone, he knows, and he should really care about that, but he doesn't.

Nothing seems to matter anymore.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What's your name?"

Lee answers automatically. "Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Major Lee Adama, CAG—" he starts.

A resounding "Frak!" makes him open his eyes. He closes them again just as fast, groaning at the harsh lights all around.

He had time to spot Cottle, though.

"Sorry," Lee manages.

There's a tense silence, then a familiar voice on his left asks, "Son, do you know where you are?"

"Galactica?"

Cottle's voice is literally dripping sarcasm when he asks, "Is that an answer or a guess?"

Lee tries to open his eyes again, and decides that seeing what's going on around him is definitely not worth the pain.

"Educated guess," he says.

He hears a snort on his left. He can almost picture Cottle shaking his head.

"Dad?" Lee says, hoping his voice sounds more firm than he thinks it does.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. "I'm here, Lee."

_They killed Dee_, he wants to say. _Did you know?_

"Don't think you're getting out of this neuro exam," Cottle warns. Lee can feel hands on him and tenses, startled. He forces himself to relax, as much as he can, but he can tell he's not doing a good job.

He can feel his clothes being cut off, as Cottle continues, "But frankly, the rest of you looks in even worse shape than your brain." The unsaid, "And that's saying something," almost makes him smile.

Then, the hands start prodding, and damn but everything hurts—he's pretty sure getting beat up in the first place wasn't that painful—and when hands press firmly on his left side, he hears a distant yell and surrenders to darkness.

* * *

TBC 


	4. Part 3

**Title** : Break

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13 for violence

**Summary** : He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far (up to 3x11) is fair game.

**Pairings** : Lee/Dee, glimpses of Lee/Kara, but the pairings aren't the point of the story.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN**. Huge thanks to my beta, Joey, who gave this a look even though BSG is not her fandom of choice.

* * *

Part Three

Lee surfaces for a few minutes, shortly after the surgery. His father is standing near his bed, talking to Tigh. Lee can't really make out what they're saying, but at some point, he sees Tigh put a hand on the Admiral's shoulder and nod to Lee.

Then, his father is leaning over him. "Lee? Are you okay?"

Lee stares at him a moment. "No," he says.

"Are you in pain? Do you want—"

"No," Lee replies, closing his eyes again.

He feels a soft squeeze on his arm before drifting off.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When he wakes up coherent enough to take stock of how crappy he feels, Cottle is near his bed, studying his chart.

Their eyes meet and suddenly, Lee is certain that the next words out of the doctor's mouth will be some variation of, "You're lucky to be alive," and if that happens, he's sure he's going to lose it in a major way.

Cottle, however, isn't stupid and has dealt with soldiers all his life, so instead, he proceeds to tell Lee what's wrong with him—three broken ribs, internal bleeding ("It took us a while but we managed to save your spleen."), cuts and bruises. "I'm sure you must be feeling those. Need something for the pain?"

Cottle's bedside manner has always sucked.

Right now, Lee is grateful for his bluntness.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The next few days are a blur of worried voices.

Of compassionate eyes.

Of comforting pats on the shoulder.

Of meaningless reassurances.

"There was nothing else you could have done, Lee. Son."

"Those bastards didn't give you a choice, Major."

He wants to scream.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Cottle is _really_ good at dealing with grieving, traumatized, pissed-as-hell soldiers, so when he finds Lee clutching paper and a pen, staring at the covers, he doesn't offer a sympathetic ear.

Good.

The last thing Lee wants is sympathy.

Trying to write the report now was a bad idea, it turns out.

Lee is so damn angry that he can't even see straight anymore.

What he wants is five minutes alone with the surviving terrorists.

"Go ahead before your BP rises even more," Cottle says. "Tear that thing to pieces, throw it at the wall for all I care."

Lee does with a strangled shout.

"Feeling better?" Cottle asks, his voice clinical.

"No."

Lee spends the next twenty hours staring at the ceiling, ignoring everyone who comes visit him.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Kara comes see him the day he's released.

She whispers an awkward, "I'm sorry."

She doesn't try to touch him.

He didn't expect her to.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The president holds him back after the funeral.

She mercifully doesn't speak about duty, or necessary choices.

She does offer condolences, hugs him briefly, the way his mother would have.

xxxxxxxxxxx

His father doesn't say anything.

When Lee reports for duty, three weeks _after_, and salutes, his father salutes back, smiles encouragingly, and returns to business.

Chances are, he knows there's nothing to say.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The other pilots—his men—are loud and cheering, asking him when he'll start flying again, and when he'll come play cards with them.

That helps, which is one of the many reasons why he resents it.

Nothing should help.

Nothing should make the pain better.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lee survives.

He has always been good at surviving.

And if a part of him died on that ship, who will be able to tell?

Lee Adama has long since earned himself the reputation of being an uncaring bastard—nothing is ever private on a ship, and everyone knows what everyone thinks about everyone else.

He has heard the whispers.

He has heard what they say about him—harsh rumors, contradicted only by those who were in the CIC when his father got shot.

He doesn't really care anymore.

He refuses to cry, he doesn't show his pain, and if people want to think that makes him less than fully human, maybe they're right.

* * *

TBC 


	5. Part 4

**Title** : Break

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13 for violence

**Summary** : He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far (up to 3x11) is fair game.

**Pairings** : Lee/Dee, glimpses of Lee/Kara, but the pairings aren't the point of the story.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN**. Huge thanks to my beta, Joey, who gave this a look even though BSG is not her fandom of choice.

* * *

Part Four

"Everyone breaks in the end," one of Lee's teachers used to say, in War College.

Everyone talks.

Everyone screams and begs and offers information—anything—to make it stop.

It's just a matter of keeping at it long enough.

Lee remembers that, unsaid but very strong, was his belief that he and his classmates would hold on indefinitely, that they were stronger than that, that _they_ wouldn't break.

He had been wrong of course—not that Lee would have said so, even if his buddies were still alive.

Oh, sure, he didn't give the bad guys what they wanted, but he knows he was about to, and that's almost as shameful as actually doing it. It makes him feel like a fraud every time the marines salute him; it makes him feel like screaming every time his pilots tell the tale of yet another adventure Lee managed to escape with his skin intact.

He's learning now, almost a decade later, that his teacher had been right on the breaking part.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His father is keeping a close eye on him, and being surprisingly obvious about it, too.

Lee can see the worried glances and wishes he could reassure his father, but nothing comes to mind—at least, nothing that isn't a blatant lie.

If the Admiral notices the deepening circles and the increasingly shaky hands, though, he doesn't say anything.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His pilots don't complain when Lee refuses to socialize with them anymore, don't complain when he snaps at them, don't even look surprised or angry or anything the one time he yells at Racetrack and Starbuck for five minutes on the flight deck, a day when his fuse is even shorter than it usually is these days.

Lee can tell they all expected him to blow up eventually and that it almost reassures them to see him so damned pissed, and frak if that doesn't anger him even more.

Racetrack and Starbuck take the scolding without comment, Racetrack with her head down, Kara with a frown and a concerned expression and none of her usual blatant insubordination. He almost wants her to slap him, call him Captain Tightass, and make a quip about superior assholes. He hates that she doesn't.

When he's done ranting, Lee storms off to his office, slams the door behind him and squeezes his fists.

The urge to pound something is nearly irresistible.

The last thing he needs are a few broken bones, so he resists.

It passes, eventually.

He wishes it didn't.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Unsurprisingly, Kara is the one who decides that enough is enough.

Lee had been waiting for this moment, had started making bets with himself on how long it would take for her to kick his ass.

"Everyone out!" Kara yells, barging into the rec room.

Everyone clears without a backward glance, leaving Lee face to face with a smiling Kara and a bottle of what will surely prove to be the most disgusting moonshine Lee has ever drunk.

From the way no one complained at being thrown out, Lee is ready to bet that it was all a setup from the beginning.

He doesn't know if he should be angry at them all for conspiring or touched that they care enough to do so.

He wishes he could talk about it with Dee, and for a moment, he's pissed as hell at everyone—everyone on the ship, his dead wife, and himself. Mostly himself, because he and Dee were barely talking anymore, and who the hell is he to miss her now, after what he did?

Kara is watching him like she studies her equipment before climbing into the cockpit of a viper, and the attention is starting to make Lee uneasy.

"I know what you're doing," she says when Lee refuses to say the first word.

"What am I doing?" he asks, truly curious.

He and Starbuck don't talk.

Not about Zak, not about their friendship, not about the near-annihilation of their entire way of life.

Certainly not about feelings, romantic or otherwise.

Isn't that how they both ended up getting married to other people, for the sake of pissing each other off?

Isn't that why they were both unfaithful?

"You know, Lee," she says, in her cut-the-crap voice. She's the only one who's not treating him like he might break, and despite everything, he's more grateful for her at this moment than he'd care to admit.

She sits next to him, takes a gulp of alcohol, groans, "Tyrol outdid himself here."

She hands him the bottle and he eyes it hesitantly.

"Oh for… Loosen up, Adama. No one will bust your ass for it, and it might even make you relax for two seconds. How you can always be so uptight, I'll never understand."

He takes a swallow, mostly to shut her up, and grimaces as the alcohol burns its way from his throat to his stomach.

Kara's right. Tyrol did outdo himself.

"So, how long are you going to be this frakked up?" Kara asks, her voice as neutral and uninterested as if she was asking whether he wants some company on his morning run.

He takes two long gulps of alcohol this time, then groans and hits his head on the table as the headache shoots through his brain.

_Ow!_

Kara chuckles, grabbing the bottle. "Lightweight."

He raises his head enough to glare at her, then reaches out to the bottle. She keeps it just out of his reach, insisting. "How long?"

He drops his hand and closes his eyes, suddenly drained.

He can feel her watching him, can't quite picture what her face looks like—frowning? Concerned? Amused? Teasing?

He could always tell what Dee's face looked like, even in the dark, even with his back turned to her.

He can never tell with Starbuck. Not anymore.

"Lee." Kara's hand closes on his, squeezes once, which shocks him enough that he looks at her again. "Was this a bad idea?"

"It wouldn't be if you actually let me get through with it." He gestures to the bottle.

With a small, sad smile, she hands it over to him. "You're going to be sick as hell tomorrow," she says.

"I don't care."

"You still have to share."

He meets her gaze, then. "I don't care."

This time, she doesn't stop him from drinking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time they've finished the bottle, Lee's head is resting on Kara's shoulder.

For the first time in forever, it doesn't feel like it means he's betraying Dee.

"You can't keep pushing people away," Kara says. "Me, your dad, we can take it. But the rest of the crew needs you."

The irony of being lectured about responsibility by none other than Kara Thrace is enough to send Lee on an embarrassing fit of giggles. She scowls half-heartedly at him until he's finished. "I mean it. We're the only ones left, Lee. If we try to keep one another at bay, trying not to let anyone too close, what's the point? Let's just surrender to the Cylons, it'll make things easier on everyone."

_Since when do you want anyone to be close to you?_ he wants to ask.

_Since when do you care about companionship?_

He doesn't speak aloud. He's too drunk, too tired, and it would be mostly undeserved. He doesn't know much about Kara, but what he does know is that she's just about as frakked up as he is.

He leans in closer, closing his eyes. How long has it been since he has felt at ease with her? It feels like months.

She' s still stuck in a marriage she won't back out of, he's still traumatized, he might as well admit it, after seeing his wife murdered in front of him.

There's no reason why this should make anything feel better, but it does.

Kara is still his oldest friend, no matter what else there may be between them.

She's the last link to his past—the last person alive, aside from his father, who knew Zak, and who knew what Lee and Zak were like together.

"That hangover is going to kill us," he says.

"I know."

He sighs. "I'm tired."

"I know," she repeats, softly.

He squeezes his eyes shut when they start to burn. He doesn't want to lose it, not even in private, not even if it's only Kara and him.

He falls asleep against her without speaking another word.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"How's the hangover?" his father asks him the next day. He invited Lee over to talk and, Lee suspects, to force some food upon him in the process.

His father seems amused every time Lee flinches from harsh sounds, or bright lights—both of which, it turns out, can be found in abundance on a battlestar.

"Great," Lee says. "Just great." He rests his head against the cushions of the couch. "Incidentally, is there anyone on board who didn't know that she was going to get me drunk?"

"No."

It has been hours since he tried to drink himself into oblivion and it still echoes uncomfortably every time someone talks.

It has been days _since_, and he's back to seeing Dee's eyes, just before the bastard pulled the trigger.

Worse, the questions have started to nag at him again.

Would Dee have kept silent? Would she have allowed someone to kill him in cold blood?

Would Lee have allowed Starbuck, would he have allowed his father or the president, to die that way?

Would his father have allowed terrorists to kill him for the sake of security?

_"Son, if it was you out there, we'd never leave."_

"It's just the way things work on a battlestar," his father says. Concern tinges his tone, and that, more than anything, drives home how worried he is.

Lee doesn't blame him. He knows how he looks, and he's more aware than ever of the glances people give him when he walks through Galactica's hallways.

"Lee—" his father starts, just as Lee says, "Look—"

They both stop and share a rueful smile.

Obviously, they'll never get the hang of this communication thing.

"What happened was—"

Lee tries to guess what his father will say. Unfortunate? A tragedy? Another battle lost?

"—horrible, and everyone knows you're not just going to bounce back from it as if nothing happened."

"I know."

"But understand that we're worried, and you're not giving us any clue as to how to help you."

A loaded silence falls on the room. Lee's father eventually gets up and starts setting the table, leaving Lee alone with his thoughts.

He misses Dee more than he thought possible, her last moments playing again and again in his mind, making wish he had done a thousand things differently, and the truth is, Lee has never reacted well to pain.

Kara's right. He _is_ pushing everyone away.

It's so much easier to be angry than it is to deal with loss and move on.

He did the same thing when Zak died, and almost lost his father in the process.

He's doing it again, and his father and Kara still try to reach out to him—which means a lot, coming from two people who are about as bad at expressing concern and love as Lee is—and frankly, at this point, even he is growing annoyed with himself and his self-destructive coping mechanisms.

By the time Lee's father says "Let's eat," the silence has grown uncomfortable enough that Lee offers, "Things weren't great between us." _Would you have allowed them to kill me, dad?_

Once upon a time, he would have asked that question.

Frak, once upon a time, he did ask that question.

He won't today.

It wouldn't be fair to force his father to make that decision, not even here, not even if it doesn't really count.

"I'm not sure…" Lee starts, then trails off, because there's just no way he can say it out loud.

Not that his father needs the extended explanation. "Don't be stupid, Lee. She was your wife, and no matter what your relationship was at the end, you were still close. Anyone could see that. You didn't let her die."

Lee finds himself on his knees, throwing up in the commander's bathroom, before he can even process what made him react that way, and how he went from there to here.

His father follows, putting a hand on his shoulder. In other circumstances, Lee would be embarrassed.

When he finally stops, exhausted, and leans back against the cold wall, panting, his father crouches next to him.

Lee ignores him, burying his head in his hands, tears threatening again.

What the hell is wrong with him?

He hasn't cried in years.

Even the holocaust didn't make him lose it—there wasn't time for such indulgences as grieving. One would think that after the near-extinction of humanity, a single life wouldn't make a difference to anyone.

It does.

His father's hand is still resting unsteadily on his arm, as if he could somehow make it all better, and Lee takes a few deep breaths, desperate to remain in control.

It's a struggle, but he manages not to start bawling like a kid in front of his father and CO. Small victories are all that's left these days, and he'll take this one.

"Sorry," he says after a while, once he feels like he can speak without cracking.

His father doesn't acknowledge the apology, deep in thought. Eventually, he says, "She was a soldier too, don't forget that. And a damn good one. She made her choice as well." His voice is uncertain, almost as if he's wondering whether the words will do more harm than good.

Lee tries to shake his head, thinking that it's not that simple, and that it doesn't excuse the mistakes he made.

It's not so much obeying orders and allowing others to die that Lee can't forgive himself for. He'll find a way to live with it, just like he lives with the Olympic Carrier, and with the mutiny, and even with Cain.

What he's not sure he can live with is the thought that Dee believed he didn't love her.

It's that he was trapped between two women he loved, and couldn't find it in him to do anything about it.

It's that she managed to forgive him, when he knows he'll never forgive himself for what he did, and what he failed to do.

It's that her dying—and he hates himself for thinking that—almost makes his life simpler.

"Don't take that away from her, Lee. She was a fighter, same as you are." His father gets to his feet, slowly, and extends his hand to Lee. "I'm sorry I can't do more to help you with this. I wish there was something I could do."

Lee takes the proffered hand and allows his father to pull him to his feet.

They head back to the table together.

"Will you be okay?" Adama asks, once they've taken their seats again.

Lee nods hesitantly. It's not like he has a choice. They're so pitifully short on pilots, and on experienced officers...

Perhaps that's the hardest thing, since the Cylons' attack—in the past, they were at least allowed the luxury to take time to recover from their wounds, physical and otherwise. These days, they have to pick up the pieces and keep on going, or die trying.

"You know, if you want to talk..."

It suddenly occurs to Lee how difficult this must be for his father as well. How does his father manage to hold it together when Lee is held hostage, beaten to a pulp, or drifting in space in nothing but a flight suit, in the middle of a space battle, not answering his comm.? And how much is it costing him to reach out right now, when it goes against his instincts?

Adamas are not known for their communication abilities. Not when it's personal, at any rate.

Lee sure can testify to that fact.

"I know." They share a long look, and Lee hopes he conveys everything he can't say.

His father nods, gestures at the rapidly cooling food on the table, and for a little while, it almost looks like things will be fine.

Lee knows it won't last, knows that it will take long before he's over it, but for now, the feeling of normality is all he really cares about.

And maybe, just maybe, the best way to atone for the way things ended between them is to get over it and start living again, one way or the other. She has given him forgiveness when he didn't deserve it, the least he can do is try to honor her memory and not give up.

It doesn't seem like it's enough, but it's all he can do.

His father is watching him, his face unreadable. Lee swallows thickly. "Thanks," he manages to say.

"Just remember that there are people you can turn to," his father concludes.

Lee nods.

He tends to forget, he knows.

Whenever he hurts, he retreats and lashes out at anyone who tries to help, pushes his friends and his family away and then blames them for leaving.

It's a side of himself he has been trying to fight for most of the past three years.

Surviving Dee's death isn't going to be the problem, Lee knows that as well as his father does.

Surviving it relatively whole, without letting his own personal demons win, that's going to be the challenge.

Fortunately, the Adamas have always been good at facing challenges.

His father is obviously waiting for an answer, so Lee says, "I won't forget."

It rings like a promise in the quiet room, and that's a promise Lee intends to keep.

* * *

end 


End file.
